were impossibly blue, which was what happened when he cried.
“I’m really sorry,” I said and immediately regretted saying it, because the
words were so ineffectual. They didn’t convey what I really meant, how I
really felt. “I’m sorry” was just as pointless as rayon.
Then I looked at Conrad. He was sitting back down again, his back stiff,
his white shirt one big wrinkle. “Hey,” I said, sitting down next to him.
“Hey,” he said. I wasn’t sure if I should hug him or leave him be. So I
squeezed his shoulder, and he didn’t say anything. He was made of stone. I
made a promise to myself: I would not leave his side all day. I would be right
there, I would be a tower of strength, just like my mother.
My mother and Steven and I sat in the fourth pew, behind Conrad and
Jeremiah’s cousins and Mr. Fisher’s brother and his wife, who was wearing
too much perfume. I thought my mother should be in the first row, and I told
her so, in a whisper. She sneezed and told me it didn’t matter. I guessed she
was right. Then she took off her suit jacket and draped it over my bare thighs.
I turned around once and saw my father in the back. For some reason, I
hadn’t expected to see him there. Which was weird, because he’d known
Susannah too, so it only made sense that he’d be at her funeral. I gave him a
little wave, and he waved back.
“Dad’s here,” I whispered to my mother.
“Of course he is,” she said. She didn’t look back.
Jeremiah and Conrad’s school friends sat in a bunch together, toward the
back. They looked awkward and out of place. The guys kept their heads
down and the girls whispered to one another nervously.
The service was long. A preacher I’d never met delivered the eulogy. He
said nice things about Susannah. He called her kind, compassionate, graceful,
and she was all of those things, but it sounded a lot like he’d never met her. I
leaned in close to my mother to tell her so, but she was nodding along with
him.
I thought I wouldn’t cry again, but I did, a lot. Mr. Fisher got up and
thanked everyone for coming, told us we were welcome to come by the house
afterward for a reception. His voice broke a few times, but he managed to
keep it together. When I last saw him, he was tan and confident and tall.
Seeing him that day, he looked like a man who was lost in a snowstorm.
Shoulders hunched, face pale. I thought about how hard it must be for him to
stand up there, in front of everybody who loved her. He had cheated on her,
left her when she needed him most, but in the end, he had shown up. He’d